


The Interplay of Duty and Desire

by Liara_90



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Post-Promised Day, Romance, Trains, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: Several years after the events of the Promised Day, Emperor Ling Yao is preparing to travel to Amestria to inaugurate the completion of the Great Eastern Railway. From her position in the Emperor’s shadow, a selfish desire stirs in Lan Fan’s heart, one her duty requires her to extinguish.But duty and desire have a funny way of interplaying, and she is certainly not the only one struggling.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the benefit of anyone searching via Google: lanfan, ranfan, ran fan, lin yao, rin yao.
> 
> This is my first attempt writing fanfiction for _Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood_ , and the first time I’ve written fanfiction for an anime since about 2013. Since I finished _FMAB_ I became a rabid consumer of Lingfan fanfiction, which no doubt influenced the writing of this ( _[Swallows on the Beam](https://archiveofourown.org/works/963992) _ and _[After All the Misery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989406)_ were certainly major influences on my depictions of Ling and Lan Fan, though there are too many other fics to list exhaustively). And special thanks to [Jefardi](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2200510/Jefardi) for introducing me to the series to begin with.

* * *

From the moment the imperial court session began, Lan Fan could tell that Ling was in a foul mood.

Though he was a doing a pretty good job of concealing it, the Emperor’s shadow had to admit, eyeing him from her perch in a recess of the Imperial Throne Room. Ling Yao was a man who was used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, after all - he never would have survived the cutthroat world of the imperial palace had he not gone ahead and just won the throne outright. And even then, his penchant for running roughshod over protocol and propriety had earned him more than a few enemies, many of whom were presently honored members of the court.

“....a distinction which, in accordance with the Five Harmonious Principals in the Book for the Navigation of Occasions, should have been given to my second son, recently returned from an Imperial survey to the province of…”

Lan Fan watched as the fabric of Ling’s robes tightened, suggesting he was clawing his sleeves from the inside. His eyes remained shut and his face impassive, though Lan Fan couldn’t miss the clenching of his jaw.

“...and despite our generous support given for the Three Coronations of the Emperor, which came at considerable expense to the clan’s treasury, already degraded by the necessity of providing security for the southern hinterlands…”

Lan Fan scrunched her nose, trying to dissipate an itch without removing her mask. She might have tried rubbing it through the mask itself, but right now the infuriating stimuli was the only thing keeping her awake. The Celestial Court was being held hostage by two minor noblemen arguing over a point of protocol so esoteric that even the Emperor’s wizened masters of ceremonies were having difficulty discerning whose honor had been slighted by whom. And even Lan Fan - who over her career as a bodyguard had built up an exceptionally high tolerance for boredom - was having difficulty keeping her mind from wandering. It was so hot, and the noblemen spoke with such _sonorous_ tones, that it was all she could do to keep from curling up into a ball then and there.

The entire hearing had been a mistake. This was a petty dispute between pettier men, and the Emperor’s retainers had generously suggested that the Emperor would be willing the mediate the dispute in a more private, _intimate_ setting. Most men would have jumped at the excuse to get a few minutes up close and personal with the Emperor, but _no_ , these two had invoked one ancient right or another to make sure the _entire_ Imperial Court heard their grievances. To Lan Fan that confirmed that the petitioners were nothing more than grandstanders, looking to use the Emperor as a prop, a _backdrop_ , for some idiotic bout of chest-thumping. To Ling Yao, that meant stuffy court robes on what was already a sweltering summer day.

Several of the court officials began making hand gestures indicating that the pontificating needed to come to an end _very soon_. The rules regulating how exactly one was to behave in the court were largely unwritten, but that didn’t mean that they were unenforceable.

Ling cleared his throat, a none-too-subtle indication than his patience was wearing thin, and Lan Fan’s head snapped upright. Perhaps _this_ would be the day he ordered her to execute a bloviating petitioner for wasting His Imperial Majesty’s time, for insulting him with such petty minutiae. (It probably wouldn’t be, but a girl could dream.)

“....and we were amongst the first clans to pledge support to the ascension of Prince Yao to the throne of-”

Lan Fan saw Ling’s patience run out a half-second before he spoke.

“ _Enough_!” the Emperor snapped, loudly enough to startle the entire court. His voice was still young, unused to the ponderous cadences of the court, still more the Young Lord than the Son of Heaven-

-That was a treacherous thought that Lan Fan did her best to stifle. It was a thought the noblemen, she belatedly realized, were doing everything to cultivate.

“My Lord?” replied one of the petitioners, his quarrel with the man to his right apparently forgotten. Lan Fan bit her lip. While ‘ _lord_ ’ certainly _sounded_ respectful, it was nevertheless a title Ling would have used only as Prince, not Emperor. It was, in the rank-obsessed world of Xingese nobility, disrespectful. And respect and legitimacy were painfully entwined in the court.

Something Ling had come to appreciate all too quickly. “I am the Emperor of Xing, Son of the Jade Emperor, keeper of the Mandate of Heaven. Do you understand that?” One of the petitioners blushed. The other tucked his chin into his robes, avoiding eye contact. The youthful lilt was gone entirely from Ling’s voice, replaced with steely determination. “The Emperor is not indebted to you. My seat on the throne comes from righteousness of the heavens, passed down through the blood of the Jade Emperor.” One of the men raised a hand, as if preparing to speak. “On your knees.” The subject hesitated for only a fraction of a second, before Ling appended one last word: “ _Now_.”

Lan Fan watched, almost entranced, as the two men fell to their knees before the Emperor, prostrating themselves beneath the throne. She watched Ling’s face, marred by a snarl, then studied the nobles still standing around the periphery of the court. They watched the display impassively, a few looking mildly amused at the long overdue dressing-down. Reaching out with her mind, Lan Fan saw the same feelings reflected in their _chi_. If the petitioners were attempting to chip away at the prestige of the Emperor, then they had no clear supporters in the court, no one burning with righteous anger ready to take up the cause of the humiliated aristocracy. That was important. That was the point of Ling’s display.

“You are vassals of the Emperor of Xing. Your duty is to obey my will, as is the rightful order of things. Do you not agree?”

There was some shuffling by the prostrated petitioners on the floor. Lan Fan felt the energy of their _chi_ dissipating, like bonfires against a thunderstorm. “Yes, You of Ten Thousand Years,” muttered one of the men.

“It is so, Son of Heaven,” grumbled the other.

“Very good. This audience is concluded.”

Lan Fan thumbed the pommel of her kunai with a sigh.

* * *

“Lan Fan, do you think if I stay in the baths too long, eventually my entire body will shrivel up into a raisin?”

Ling glanced backwards, over the lip of the bath, to where Lan Fan was kneeling, a polite enough distance away to allow the Emperor some semblance of privacy. Not that he ever wanted privacy from her, of course, but she had to make the gesture all the same.

Lan Fan cleared her throat. “I… do not know, Your Majesty,” she answered, noncommittally. Admittedly she’d seen enough corpses dragged out of rivers to fathom a guess as to what happened to a body submerged in water for too long, but such morbidity would probably kill Ling’s mood.

The Imperial Bath - at least this part of it - was really more a natural spring than the porcelain bathtubs of Amestris. It was carved into the side of the hill the Palace sat atop, supplied with fresh water from the mountain streams, and completely forbidden for the noblemen of the court to enter.

“Sounds like an old poem,” Ling waxed philosophically, pushing off from the wall and drifting lazily in the water. “The Emperor who washed and washed himself, until he was nothing.” Ling twisted onto his back so that he floated, staring into the ceiling.

Lan Fan did her best to keep her gaze politely averted. It was not her place to tell His Majesty when and where he could disrobe, of course. And it was _definitely_ not her place to gawk.

Still, though, her duties as a bodyguard necessitated the occasional peak…

“Do you think I came down too hard on them?” Ling asked, twisting back around to face Lan Fan.

She offered an almost imperceptible shrug. “Your Majesty has a duty to defend the authority of the Throne,” she offered, cautiously.

As much as the average Xingese peasant might revere the Emperor, anyone who’d spent any time in the court knew that the politics and power struggles were as real as anywhere else in the world. The Emperor’s authority was, at least nominally, absolute, but dynasty after dynasty warred with the extended aristocracy and the entrenched bureaucracy for actual control over the levers of state. Emperors came and went, but the Court was eternal. And no doubt there were many in the court, some who had been there since Ling’s _grandfather_ was on the throne, who thought that they could chip away at his clout, dampen his majestic aura. While Lan Fan would do everything in her power to protect his life, she always felt a certain helplessness when it came to safeguarding him against courtly conspiracies.

“Yeah. Still, feel like a bit of a jerk,” Ling mused, bouncing himself in the water. With a shake of his head, Ling hopped out of the bath, droplets of water falling from his body.

“You sure you don’t want a quick dip, Lan Fan?” Ling asked, as he padded about barefoot for his towel. Tradition would have had him surrounded by a dozen servants waiting on him hand-and-foot, but Ling had fought to maintain at least some semblance of autonomy.

Lan Fan bowed her head, both at His Majesty’s generous offer and to avoid staring at His Majesty’s exceptionally cute butt. “It would not be proper for me to use your bath, Emperor,” she answered, quite truthfully.

“Even if the Emperor said it’s okay?” Ling asked, with a teasing grin. He already knew her answer, though, and began toweling off. “You must be _horribly_ sweaty in there.”

Lan Fan scratched an itch by her armpit with a sigh.

* * *

Lan Fan’s quarters were, in terms of real estate, some of the most valuable in all of Xing. She was located less than a stone’s throw away from the Imperial Bedroom of Emperor Yao, and could be there in seconds in the event of an emergency. By square footage her room amounted to scarcely more than a closet, a windowless cell with space for a few blankets, some spare clothes, and her meager personal effects.

She slid the door shut, carefully placing her kunai, flashbombs, and various other implements of death on a board she’d nailed to the wall. Undressing was always an awkward affair, as she had barely enough room to stand upright. She hung her mask from a hook above the door, unlaced her boots, unwound the wraps around her chest. Rolling her neck, Lan Fan settled into her nest of blankets, the pitch blackness of the room enveloping her.

Lan Fan only slept when the Emperor slept, when he was safely sequestered in his quarters and encircled by a dozen trustworthy guards. She awoke before he did - something which had been considerably easier when Ling had been free to indulge his more lethargic tendencies - often times getting by on no more than a few hours of sleep a night. She’d found her own sleep cycle permanently altered following the installation of her automail arm, with its constant tingles and pricks, and the recalibration of her nerves seemed to have permanently shaved an hour or two off her sleep.

As was her habit, as per her training, she reviewed the day’s events in her head, for anything that might be relevant, that she might need to consider or act upon. Mostly it had been preparation for the upcoming delegation to Amestris. The logistical nightmares of crossing the Eastern Desert with a large convoy. A few more meetings with various nobles and court officials. The bath. The petitioners in the court.

‘ _On your knees.’_

Ling’s voice, filled with authority, with _dominance_ , echoing in the throne room.

That sound had stuck in Lan Fan’s head. Like a gunshot or an explosion, her mind could always retrieve those moments when Ling Yao issued a _command_.

Lying facedown, with a few pillows bunched beneath her torso and hips, Lan Fan double-checked that her door was latched shut, before allowing her hand to rub an itch that had been with her all day.

She lived to serve the Yao Clan, to obey the will of Ling Yao. That was her fate, one destined by her birth and one she’d accepted with her heart. She idly wondered if that was why she was so drawn to his authoritative tone, as her hand slipped beneath her undergarments, or if it was just…

... _oh, that voice was so…_

She replayed the scene in her head, except this time she wasn’t thinking about the reactions of the nobles, the political intrigue and power plays. She was thinking about what it would be like to be kneeling before Ling, as his meekest servant…

‘ _Kneel, Lan Fan,’_ the voice of Ling commanded.

Lan Fan rubbed a little harder. She’d only been intending to generate a bit of friction, rub some of the day’s stress out, but the quick bit of clitoral stimulation was soon coaxing out an orgasm. Lan Fan’s face rubbed against the blanket beneath her, fingers stimulating familiar points, and within minutes the edited memory of the Emperor brought her over the edge.

Straightening up, Lan Fan dismissed the idle fantasy as she began rearranging her pillows, pulling one of the blankets up over her automail shoulder. He was the Emperor, she his shadow. Their relationship was a harmonious one, unsullied and uncomplicated.

It was not her place to ask for anything more.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your readership! Please feel free to leave any comments, thoughts, feedback, or headcanons in the comments. Criticism is the only way I’ll ever get better as a writer. If you’d like to know more about me/my writing, feel free to hit up my [About](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/about) page. I’m also active on both [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/overview) and [Tumblr](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/), and can be reached through any of the means on my [Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/profile) page.
> 
> I’ve finished writing the remaining three chapters, which should be published as soon as I make the time to properly edit and proofread them. In the meantime, your feedback is my fuel. While I immensely enjoyed writing them, I find Lan Fan and especially Ling somewhat tricky characters to write, particularly given the more “serious” setting. Hopefully my interpretation of their characters is working for you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ling and Lan Fan, en route to Amestris.

* * *

Ling Yao was beginning to wonder if the train wasn’t actually moving at all.

There had always been stories, mostly apocryphal (if believable enough), about the feeble-minded Emperors of yore and the mischievous court hands who had manipulated them. The tale that had stuck in Ling’s mind was of the Emperor who had wanted to travel through one of Xing’s southern cities, recently devastated by an earthquake, after having been (falsely) promised that the damage to the ancient town was minimal. A few thousand laborers had erected a mock village a few miles outside of the town proper, creating two-dimensional buildings out of wood, like a cheap Amestrian film set. The Emperor had been paraded through the ersatz town, convinced that everything was fine, then sent back to his harem before any of the structures toppled over.

Ling wondered if they were doing the same thing now. Maybe there really _wasn’t_ a completed, transcontinental railroad linking Xing and Amestris, whose development he had been supervising for the past year and a half. Maybe his advisors had just packed him into a locomotive and started the engine. Maybe they’d borrowed another Amestrian movie trick and just stretched a panoramic photograph of the desert across his window, looping it on a continuous reel, providing the illusion of motion…

...heaven knew the landscape was certainly unchanging enough.

Ling dismissed the fantasy with a small shake of his head, refocusing his attention from the monotonous landscape to the monotonous briefing of one of his many monotonous advisors. “...where you will formally preside over the opening of the western terminus of the rail line. The ceremony will commence at approximately two o’clock, followed by…”

He drifted for a few more minutes. It was not like his advisors were telling him anything he didn’t already know. The Great Eastern Railway (a slightly ridiculous name, from Ling’s perspective, since by Xing’s geography it was the _western_ railway) had already been functional for several months, though traffic was still slow as the kinks in the system were worked out and merchants adapted to the new logistical reality. But after several months of calamity-free operation, it had been decided that it was safe enough for the Emperor to travel to Amestris, where he would formally inaugurate the new link between nations.

Ling had burned much of his political capital in doing so. Sure, nominally the Emperor was free to do whatever he wished, and Ling had ridden in high with his philosopher’s stone, but it wasn’t like the forces of officialdom couldn’t act to constrain him. There had been _fierce_ opposition to his plans for the railway from the conservative faction of the court, which despised the rail link for puncturing the insularity of Xing like a needle. To a degree, their point had merit. The railroad _would_ change Xing, accelerating the exchange of goods, people, and ideas across the desert. Xing _would_ be altered, as much as the reactionaries would hate it. Ling just happened to believe that such change was long overdue.

The Emperor cleared his throat. “We’ve checked that my visa is in order this time around, right? And whatever the statute of limitations is for immigration violations?” Ling suppressed a grin as his advisors sputtered for several seconds, torn between the need to reiterate the sanctity of His Majesty’s person and panicking because none of them actually _had_ checked that. That bought Ling several more minutes of idle daydreaming…

His head snapped upright as Lan Fan took her place before him, at the center of the improvised throne room that the train car had been converted into. She was dressed in her usual combat attire, her face hidden by her mask, and dropped respectfully to one knee before the Emperor.

“Your Majesty, this one asks your permission to provide a briefing on the security arrangements for the ceremony,” Lan Fan began, her head still bowed. Lan Fan was using the Xingese word _zàixià_ , quite literally ‘ _this one who is beneath you_ ’. It described their relative statuses and, in this instance, postures.

“Of course, Lan Fan,” Ling replied with a lazy wave of his hand, dismissing some of the more odious aspects of protocol. Lan Fan had always spoken to him formally, to the point of reverentially, a habit that had only been exacerbated post-Emperorhood.

Lan Fan cleared her throat. “Due to the architectural design of the station, the most immediate risk to His Majesty’s body will come from a ranged attack. The Grand Concourse, being open air, is visible from several of the surrounding structures, including the Bezeklik Hotel to the north…”

Ling still hadn’t figured out how to get through these security briefings without falling into a depressive funk. He was, perhaps as a product of his misspent youth, entirely unfazed by the thought that there were probably dozens of people actively scheming to kill him at this very moment. That was just the way of the world, or at least, the way of the world he’d been born into.

Hearing about how people would _protect_ him, well, that was still weird.

“In the event that this one senses imminent danger,” Lan Fan continued, speaking with none of the unease Ling felt, “this one will move from her position behind the colonnade to shield His Majesty’s body.” Ling suppressed a grimace. “We will then move to evacuate Your Majesty back to this train using the station’s subsurface passageways.”

“Thank you, Lan Fan,” Ling said, capping her remarks. It wasn’t like he could imagine himself running away in the event of an actual attack, after all. Emperor or not, he was still Ling Yao, a man who’d held his own against some of the worst the world had to offer. He turned to remainder of his assembled advisors. “Gentlemen, will you please give us the room?”

It took the men the better part of a minute to vacate the Emperor's throne-car, going through the obligatory cycles of bowing and scraping and murmuring their assent. Only when the compartment door was slid shut did Ling let out a melodramatic _sigh_ , slouching back in his chair in a most un-Imperial manner.

“Do you think there’s an actual threat, Lan Fan?” Ling asked, after listening to the unrelenting grind of the automotive for a few moments.

His loyalist servant coughed slightly. “This one only knows what has been reported by-”

Ling cut her off with a wave. “Try to relax, Lan Fan, it’s just us kids in here,” he said with a playful grin. “And why not take your mask off for a few minutes? Last chance before we hit Amestris.”

Lan Fan visibly hesitated for a few seconds - casting a sideways glance at the compartment door - before sliding her mask sideways. A few tufts of hair veiled those beautiful brown eyes, and for the thousandth time Ling cursed that damned mask.

“There is a risk,” Lan Fan conceded, looking equal parts ashamed and enraged by the reality. “Our friends in Amestris have heard some unusual rumors, including in the criminal underground.” Ling shrugged. In truth, he assumed that if he was going to be assassinated, the dagger would be held in Xingese hands, not an Amestrian’s. “There is _one_ thing I would ask you to consider…”

“Oh?” Ling asked, genuinely curious, as Lan Fan scurried to the other end of the car, where she’d deposited a small rucksack. Lan Fan’s requests were certainly few and far between. He watched as she retrieved what looked like a long and very fine cloth.

“This was sent to me by our friends in Amestris,” Lan Fan said, holding up what upon closer inspection looked like an oversized shirt, though of an unfamiliar design. “I have been told it’s the product of alchemical science. The fabric is incredibly resilient.” She bowed her head. “I… this one thinks that Your Majesty may benefit from wearing it.”

Ling lifted the cloth from Lan Fan’s hands, and she raised her head as he did. The fabric was light, almost like spider silk, weighing practically nothing in his hands. He was curious how something so flimsy could promise protection, but if it was coming from where he thought it was, he’d trust the promise. “Thanks, Lan Fan,” Ling replied, pumping as much cheer into his voice as he could. “Give me a second and I’ll slip right into it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lan Fan said, sounding relieved.

The next few minutes were spent in silence, as Ling awkwardly slipped in and out of his court dress. The fabric felt strangely cool against his skin, and the sensation persisted even after the layers of his robes covered him again.

It was, of course, _Lan Fan_ who should have been wearing the second skin of armor. _She_ was the one who put her life in danger, _intentionally_ , without hesitation. He wanted to insist, to _order_ her to wear it. And while he was at it, order her to stay in the palace, somewhere safe, and never again risk her life for his. Heaven knew she’d done that too many times, at too high a cost, for any woman’s lifetime. And then, when she was no longer duty-bound to him-

Ling suppressed that train of thought with a scowl.

He cast his gaze at Lan Fan, but she was looking elsewhere, eyes darting from one corner of the car to another in her millionth security sweep on his behalf. Her jaw was set, and her eyes held a steely determination, a quiet confidence about her duty and her role. That look, that _certainty_ , was why he couldn’t order Lan Fan into retirement, as many times as he thought he should, as he fantasized he _would_.

Because, at the end of the day, it was her choice. Her decision. For better or worse, she had decided that her life would safeguard his. And while Ling Yao might have been the Emperor of Xing, it was still not his place to tell her how to live her life. This was her choice, and as much as it gnawed at him, he had to live with it. Because, ultimately, it was a question of respect. And he had too much respect for Lan Fan to force her into a quieter life.

“Thank you again, Lan Fan,” Ling said, as he finished tying his royal belt. “I appreciate your discretion, too.” There was no need to send the courtiers into a tizzy over body armor, after all.

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Lan Fan replied, and Ling glimpsed the ghost of a self-satisfied smile on her lips. She bowed again. “There is one other issue which might best be resolved… discreetly.”

Ling grinned. “Lan Fan, you are just _full_ of surprises today.”

She bowed her head. “Your Majesty is aware that we are being greeted by the Lord of the City, Hugo Menzel.” Ling raised an expectant eyebrow, then raised the other one when Lan Fan began blushing a fiery scarlet. “Mister Menzel has privately extended an offer for Your Majesty to be attended by what he calls... _Amestris’ finest courtesans_ ’.”

Ling actually choked on his own saliva, while Lan Fan continued doing a passable impersonation of a tomato. “ _Surely_ that’s an espionage tactic, isn’t it, Lan Fan?” Ling asked, after he’d recovered from the most unanticipated offer. “Throw some pretty girls at me and see if they can’t loosen my tongue? Or just plain blackmail me.”

Lan Fan bowed. “That is a very real possibility, Your Majesty,” she hurriedly admitted. “Though…” her boot scraped the floor, “I do believe we could work with our contacts in Central, such as the affiliates of Madame Christmas, to weed out any potential spies.”

It took Ling’s brain a few seconds to parse what Lan Fan was saying, and then it took all his willpower to keep his jaw from dropping. There was a time after hitting puberty (which really was not all that long ago), when Ling would have salivated at the offer. When he’d fantasized endlessly about the harem of fifty concubines he would take after he became Emperor. What they would _do_ for him every morning, afternoon, and evening…

He thanked the stars that he’d outgrown those juvenile fantasies by the time he’d _actually_ become Emperor. The traditional harem of concubines - a daughter from every clan in Xing - had been abolished in one of the first of his Imperial reformations. No doubt many young women of Xing had been dreading what depravities a sex-starved teenage sovereign would subject them to. But he’d gained more than a philosopher’s stone during his time in Amestris.

“Lan Fan, please,” Ling finally replied, shooting her a look of mock offense. “Why are we even discussing the offer?”

Lan Fan’s expression changed from embarrassment to shame. “It is not my place to withhold information or choices from Your Majesty,” Lan Fan said, though Ling knew that many in his court would disagree. “And I… this one believes that Your Majesty deserves to find happiness,” she continued, the words half-mumbled as she tried to tuck her chin into her cowl.

Ling scowled. “I doubt being forced to seduce the Emperor of Xing will make any of those women happy,” he replied, a little tartly. “As much as I’d like to pretend otherwise.”

To Ling’s surprise, Lan Fan actually smiled a little. “I believed that Your Majesty would reach that conclusion,” she said, speaking quietly but clearly. “Perhaps that is why I didn’t worry about presenting Your Majesty with the option.”

She shot him one last, fleeting smile, then slid her mask back into place. She bowed and turned her back to him, moving to allow the rest of Ling’s advisors to return to the train car.

And in that moment, Ling would have forsaken his Empire just to hold her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit more time with these two, this time primarily from Ling's POV. Next two chapters (already written, just awaiting proofreading) are where things really start... _happening_. Thank you for reading, as always.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The assassination attempt occurred, to Ling’s remorse, during the dessert course.

If there _had_ to have been an attempt on his life (and Ling was basically resigned to such, at this point), he would have preferred the assassin be a bit more prompt with his efforts. Had the gunman taken his shot while the entrées were still being served, His Imperial Majesty could have been spared several hours of arid small talk with Führer Grumman, if nothing else.

And had the assassin had the courtesy of holding off for just a few more minutes, perhaps Ling Yao could have actually gotten to taste his mille-feuille.

There was a logic to the assassin’s patience, of course. The dinner had been approaching its fourth hour by the time of his attempt, and just about every diner was sluggish from heavy food, dulled by potent drink. Even the ever-vigilant Amestrian security detail was beginning to fade. Whatever initial excitement or concern the guards had held had long since faded, as they too grew bored watching old men and younger women feast on dish after dish. Nothing happened, minds wandered. Even the most vigilant escort couldn’t maintain the same heightened state of alertness for the entirety of a ten-course meal.

Well, _almost_ none.

Lan Fan, dressed in her uniform, veiled by her cowl and her mask, would have stood out in the crowd of uniformed Amestrians and Xingese in court dress, had she not long since mastered the art of the wallflower. All but invisible, she had watched as one of the waiters scurried a _little_ too quickly towards one of the tables, where an Amestrian bureaucrat was boring to death his Xingese counterpart with the finer points of phytobacterial quarantine protocol. The waiter began fussing about with the dishes, which Lan Fan immediately knew was _wrong_. As per tradition, plates were cleared as soon as soon as the Emperor and the Führer put their cutlery down, and not a moment before.

The breach of protocol cost the assassin his shot.

None of the invitees saw the gunman whip out his pistol. Lan Fan herself barely did, for her hands were moving before her mind fully recognized what she was looking at. Her kunai whistled through the air, the tip of the blade burrowing itself right beneath his wrist bone, piercing vein and muscle. The whole attempt unfolded amidst a din of comfortable conversation, the attack over before so much as the first panicked shout.

Through sheer coincidence, a photographer with Office of the Führer, assigned the thankless task of documenting the night’s festivities, had been fiddling with the lens of his camera right before the assassin struck, having been lining up a shot of the Führer and the Emperor in amicable conversation over custard. As such, he was able to snap the most iconic photograph of the Emperor’s visit to Amestris. The photograph - reproduced in every newspaper from Pendleton to Dublith, showed the gunman pointing his pistol in the direction of Emperor Ling, Lan Fan’s blade already embedded in his forearm. The Emperor looked to be staring back at the gunman, his stone-faced expression seeming to taunt his would-be killer, unflinching in the face of near-death.

Emperor Ling would be eternally grateful that the photographer had snapped a photograph not one second later, because that was when Lan Fan splattered him with his own dessert.

“Your Majesty, _get down_!” shouted Lan Fan, vaulting herself onto the table to interpose her body between the assassin and her Emperor. One foot, booted in heavy leather, planted itself square in the middle of Ling’s dessert. Physics ensued, and the Son of Heaven was splashed with a plateful of pastry cream.

The solitary bit that landed in Ling’s mouth was the most delicious food he had ever tasted.

The Amestrian security detail had sprung belatedly into action, whipping out their concealed firearms and hurrying to secure the entrances and exits. Two guards tackled the gunman to the ground, eliciting a shriek of pain that was heard even over the startled shouts echoing throughout the banquet hall. Many of the guests were current or former military types themselves, mercifully, and knew how to compose themselves under danger. The head table was soon swarmed by bulky men, creating a human shield (or perhaps, Ling mused, a human blanket).

“Please, Your Majesty, get under the table,” Lan Fan pleaded, her eyes not daring to drift from the crowded hall. While the immediate threat had been neutralized, she’d be an utter fool to assume that the man had worked alone.

Ling stared desolately at the remains of his dessert. “ _Fine_ ,” he grumbled theatrically, as Lan Fan slipped a second kunai into her hand. “But I’m going to be sullen all night, you should know?”

* * *

“ _Da da da daaaaa_ ,” Ling hummed, twirling on the marble-tiled floor of the shower. “ _Da da na na na na naaa….._ ”

He spun the faucets shut, allowing the billowing cloud of steam to slowly begin to dissipate. The Royal Amestrian Hotel, despite its name (and promises in promotional material), was still a far cry from the luxuries enjoyed by _actual_ royalty. Still, there was something to be said for being able to take a shower without needing a staff of twenty to prepare the Imperial Baths.

“ _La la la laaaa_ ,” Ling snatched another absurdly soft towel off the rack and strolled out of the bathroom, droplets of water still falling from his hair.

Ling was distantly disappointed - if not entirely surprised - to find Lan Fan falling to her knees before him. He gave an obviously-mock cry as he pretended to trip over her.

“ _Lan Fan_! Careful, I didn’t see you down there,” the Emperor joked, eyes casually darting around the room as he did. Unsurprisingly, none of his usual entourage was present. Lan Fan had no doubt sent them off for the night, leaving the King’s Suite - the hotel’s penthouse, really a small block of apartments - empty but for the two of them. The curtains were all drawn shut, and a second set of Lan Fan’s weapons was conspicuously displayed atop a nearby table.

“Your Majesty.” Her hands and her forehead were pressed against the floor, her whole body drawn up, as if trying to become invisible. “This one humbly begs Your Majesty’s forgiveness.” 

“Come on, Lan Fan, that’s bad for your back,” Ling teased, nudging his most humble servant with his big toe. Lan Fan seemed to draw even further into herself at his touch.

“This one allowed Your Imperial Majesty to be injured,” Lan Fan continued, speaking into the floor. Only then did Ling realize that she wasn’t wearing her mask. Which, as much as he loved seeing her face, was rarely a good thing.

“Lan Fan, don’t be silly. I scraped my forehead ducking under a table. You stopped me from getting shot.”

His bodyguard continued groveling. She really was her own harshest critic. After Fu had died, she’d only gotten harder on herself, as if she needed to redouble her self-flagellation. Ling had hoped that the most punishing aspects of her personality would fade away after his claim to the throne was secure, but she’d forbidden herself even a few degrees of relaxation.

So Ling switched tactics. “Did you learn anything from the Amestrians while I was in the shower?” he asked, turning his back and continuing to towel off. He could sense a slight shift in her posture, as the obligation of her role as his protector superseded her desire to wallow in her failure.

“The Amestrians have informed us that the assassin _was_ a member of the regular staff, and not an infiltrator,” she began, her voice still muffled by her posture. Her words were a small relief to Ling, though. That strongly suggested that the man was an opportunist - someone with a vendetta against Ling, or desperate for cash - instead of a cunning assassin. He’d had more than his fair share of those. “The Amestrians are interrogating him now, but he has refused to speak to them so far. The Amestrians are unwilling to…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Ling hoped the assassin was grateful that his interrogation was being conducted by Amestrian police in a cell instead of by Lan Fan in a dark room.

Ling untied his towel and began wiping down his back and his arms. In that instance, he realized that there was a mirror directly in front of him, and that in it he could see Lan Fan casting a furtive glance up from her kowtowing position.

A half-second later, Lan Fan realized, too.

“Oh, Lan Fan, I should have guessed you were a voyeur,” Ling teased, cheerily ignoring the fact that he’d walked into the suite near-enough naked. He continued toweling off, making no move to protect his own modesty. It was hardly the first time Lan Fan had seen him undressed, though rarely did he comment on it.

Lan Fan’s blush was practically radiant. “This one was simply… checking for further injuries, Your Majesty,” she whimpered.

Ling dropped the towel. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

If it was possible, Lan Fan’s voice grew even squeakier. “This one did not see any, Your Majesty,” she replied, looking like she was seriously considering trying to burrow her way out through the floorboards.

Properly dried, Ling managed to scrounge up his sleepwear, which consisted of a pair of loose pants fastened by a drawstring and a robe whose belt he left pointedly uncinched, thus baring his chest. In another suitcase in another suite was stored His Imperial Majesty’s Royal Pajamas (or something equally pretentious), but outside of the Palaces of Xing, Ling had a little more freedom from courtly protocol, and he intended to make the most of it.

“Are you really going to spend the whole night groveling?” Ling asked, casting a glance over his shoulder and dreading the answer. When Lan Fan refused to stir, Ling inwardly rolled his eyes at her otherwise commendable sense of duty. “Come on, I have something for you.” She twitched slightly. “ _Stand up_ , Lan Fan.”

A gunshot couldn’t have gotten her to her feet faster than his words. She kept her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her, but it was definitely an improvement. “It’s still the eleventh, isn’t it?”

Lan Fan cleared her throat. “For another half-hour or so, Your Majesty.”

“Then there’s still time for this.”

Lan Fan only belatedly realized that her Emperor was standing directly in front of her, holding a small box in both hands. The box was a simple wooden thing, unadorned and unpretentious, but the craftsmanship was quite remarkable. ( _Not unlike Lan Fan herself, Ling would have added._ ) Only the tiny, finely-carved engraving - リン・ヤオ - gave any clue that this was not a _normal_ box. “Happy Birthday, Lan Fan!”

Lan Fan made a good approximation of a woman being strangled. “Your Majesty… this one is not deserving of gifts… does not require…”

Ling dismissed her sputtering with a wave of his hand. “You’re not saying _no_ to a gift from the Emperor, are you, Lan Fan?” he teased, knowing that that would only compound the problem.

“Of course not!” Lan Fan insisted, as Ling pressed the box into her hands. Their fingers brushed against each other’s for a long, _long_ second, before Lan Fan pulled the box towards her, bowing at the waist. “A thousand thanks are insufficient, Your Majesty. I am just… _unused_ … to celebrating birthdays.”

Ling shrugged. “When in Amestris, do as the Amestrians do,” he replied, glibly, though they both knew that that was a paper-thin lie. Whatever Ling had done, he’d had it in the works long before their entourage had set out across the Eastern Desert. “Open it.”

Lan Fan straightened up enough to do so. The top of the box slid sideways, perfectly smoothly. Her heart skipped a beat as she made out the sheen of precious metal, nestled atop a layer of fine silk.

“It’s very old,” Ling explained, as Lan Fan lifted it out of the box. It looked similar to an ancient torc or choker, minimalist in design but made of the highest quality silver. Ancient Xing characters - from before the strokes had been standardized so many centuries ago - were etched along the sides, barely visible. “It was apparently a treasured relic of a clan from the north, before that clan was assimilated by the Yao.” He flashed her a knowing grin. “The Imperial scholars think it would have been worn by a princess, their most beautiful maiden.”

Lan Fan found herself taking deep breaths, a tingle shooting up her spine. “It’s too beautiful,” she whispered, and Ling had known her long enough to append the unspoken ‘ _for me_ ’. “And I can’t read the script.”

Ling smiled, having a rare edge over his bodyguard. “It’s the first verse of the _Tale of Ye Xian_ ,” he explained, sliding his hands back over Lan Fan’s. His thumbs played across the etching, feeling the faint cuts in the metal. “You remember that from the _Classics_ , don’t you?”

Lan Fan blushed. While she was still far more educated than the average Xingese, her knowledge of her Empire’s classical poetry was, to be frank, _lacking_. Fu had never had time for it - he considered music and poetry to be pointless to her education - and Ling had never shown enough interest for her to learn vicariously through him.

“It’s about a beautiful princess who befriends a magical fish. In exchange for saving the old fish’s life, Ye Xian is granted whatever she wishes.”

Ling raised his hands to Lan Fan’s throat, and before she could blink, he’d fastened the gift in place.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Lan Fan forgot to breathe as she felt the cool metal press against her bare skin, over the bit of her throat uncovered by cloth or armor. Ling fastened it in the nape of her neck without fumbling or hesitating, the fit just tight enough that she’d be reminded of its presence.

“Your Majesty,” Lan Fan bowed, this time in thanks, not for forgiveness or remorse. Ling was okay with that. “This one cannot…”

“ _I_ , Lan Fan…”

Lan Fan winced. “ _I_ … Your Majesty… I am just a humble servant of the Throne. You cannot give me-”

Ling _tsked_. “Tsk tsk, Lan Fan. Are you contradicting your Emperor _again_?”

Her cheeks had gone from _rosy_ to _scarlet_ , and were fast threatening to go redder still. There were, indeed, times when Lan Fan contradicted her Emperor, no matter how much he begged, teased or bellowed. Those times were always for his safety, however, not her own sense of comfort. And he was so much greater, now, than the Young Lord he had been when she had last regularly had to argue with him.

“No, Your Majesty. Simply that this one thinks it is unbefitting-”

“Look at me, Lan Fan,” the Emperor ordered, and Lan Fan obeyed without thought. “I _like_ seeing you wear it.” He grinned. “For your birthday, at least.”

Lan Fan felt her chest swell a little at his words. As much as she might groan and grumble, she liked seeing Ling playful, (something all-too-rare now that he had ascended the throne). She liked seeing him happy. And she liked it when he liked her.

That last thought slipped in, treacherously, like a provocateur, a spy tempting treason. She was his servant, his _vassal_. She loved - _lived_ \- to serve the Emperor. It was not her place to seek his warmth.

And yet.

Ling’s hands slipped back a little, from her neck, brushing delicately against her hair, her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned just a little into his touch.

“So what do you wish for, Lan Fan, Servant of the Yao?”

Lan Fan’s eyes drifted open. She hadn’t realized they’d drifted shut. “Your Majesty?” His hand was still on her face.

“Your wish,” he repeated, with a gentle smile, without tease. “Call it a birthday wish. Or the spirit of Ye Xian.” His thumb traced the elongated line of her cheekbone. “We’re not in Xing. The servants are away for the night. If it’s in the power of the Emperor of Xing, Lan Fan, it’s yours.”

Lan Fan bowed her head. The downwards tilt caused Ling’s hand to fall from her face. Her shoulders hunched by degrees. “ _Young Lord_ ,” she breathed, evoking a title that was now more nickname than rank. “You know that I am yours, body and soul. Not simply because of a familial debt, or ancient oath.” Very faintly, the machinery of her automail arm _whirred_ as her postured stiffened. “I am _yours_ , Lan Fan to Ling Yao. My heart is yours, servant to master.”

“I love you too, Lan Fan,” Ling said, softly, finishing what she couldn’t say. Lan Fan’s eyes were still downcast, but he took her hands in his, and squeezed. She squeezed back in affirmative, confirmative.

“Then you know why I cannot ask of you what I wish,” she murmured. “For me to ask would be to leave my place. And this one is beneath you.”

It was strange, some part of Lan Fan’s mind noted, just how good it felt to say those words. She had perfect certitude of her place in the universe, for there was nowhere else under Heaven she would rather be. For where she stood, she was _his_.

“You’re right, Lan Fan,” Ling said, catching his bodyguard off-guard. Lan Fan blinked as Ling slipped away from her. “Your role is my servant.” Lan Fan nodded her head.

“So… undress.”

Her heart skipped another beat.

“Your Majesty…”

He waved his hand, keeping his expression unreadable. “You’re my bodyguard, and I want to make sure you didn’t sustain any injuries in the attack tonight.” He paused. “You did the same for me, after all.” A teasing glint returned to his eye, a sheen that sparkled when he knew he had her outflanked and outfoxed.

“This one does not require-”

“-you’re my most valuable possession, Lan Fan. And I _will_ ensure that my possessions have not been damaged by an Amestrian thug.”

Any other soul who dared called Lan Fan a _possession_ would have found their tongue cleaved from their mouth. From her Emperor, her Ling, the thought of being _his_ sent shivers down her spine.

Lan Fan undressed with neither haste or delay. Despite spending much of her childhood amidst the courts of Xing, where propriety reigned supreme, she had internalized almost none of its dictates on modesty. No doubt her own upbringing had played a part in that; she’d been tagged as ‘ _immodest_ ’ since she’d foregone dresses for pants and armor. The Young Lord’s disregard for protocol had almost certainly exacerbated that.

Cowl, tunic, boots, gloves... 

She tried not to watch Ling watching her, but she still felt his coveting gaze. Last to go was the wrap that bound her chest, unwound with the smallest sigh of relief. Only the silver choker remained, the Emperor’s gift of a wish.

Ling strolled over to her, and Lan Fan steadied her breaths. She let her hands fall to her sides, neither flaunting nor concealing, as Ling’s eyes travelled from her toes to her brow. She watched as his chest rose and fell in turn, saw his nostrils flare and his breaths quicken.

The Xingese considered her ugly, Lan Fan knew, even if none dared say so to her face. Her dress was masculine, her behavior unladylike. Worse still was the foreign automail grafted onto her arm, a poor attempt at concealing her amputation, her _asymmetry_. The noblemen of the court only tolerated her because she was _useful_ , an ugly dog that still made a serviceable guard. She was usually grateful for their indifference, sparing her from unwanted attention and lecherous looks.

But Ling Yao reminded her of how good being _desired_ could feel.

“Your right arm,” he said, keeping his voice flat and stern. “What happened to it?”

Lan Fan rolled her arm, revealing a small stripe of red. “This one was cut by a piece of broken glass while sweeping the table, Your Majesty,” she answered, although she skipped the usual bow (if only with conscious effort).

“ _Hmpf_.” Ling strolled around behind her, tracing a faded mark on her lower back with his finger. “And this?”

“Sparring practice with the imperial guard, Your Majesty,” she answered, just as easily.

He walked back around in front of her, one hand raising the automail of her left. “There are scratch marks all along this,” he observed, feeling along the automail equivalent of her bicep. She had never told a soul, but the part he was approaching - the threshold of metal and flesh - had become hyper-sensitive since the grafting, and she let out the faintest of gasps as he brushed it.

“From our last trip to the Meihua Forest, Your Majesty. This one has been lax in having it maintained.” Her eyes actually lidded as his fingers slipped from automail to skin, a place only doctors and mechanics had ever touched.

He’d gotten closer to her, Lan Fan belatedly noticed, somehow slipping inside her guard despite her lifetime of martial training. The lapels of his robe were nowhere close to touching, revealing an expanse of smooth and muscled chest that Lan Fan was suddenly eye-level with. His hands were on her sides, moving downwards, and Lan Felt _felt_ more than _planned_ for her hips to sway invitingly to the touch. Soon Ling was in untouched territory, invited forward by her motions, his fingers brushing through the prickly hairs of her mons pubis.

“And what is _this_ , Lan Fan?” Ling demanded, as she stifled a gasp at the pressure of his fingers, now slicked by her wetness.

Her lips parted slightly, breaths coming through her mouth, not her nose. “Nothing, Your Majesty,” she murmured, the sensation between her legs overpowering even the instinct to blush in shame. “Just a response to… to arousal…”

Ling stepped closer, so that his free hand was wrapped around her back. Lan Fan found her head pressing up against his chest, one of her hands clutching a lapel of his robe. “Do you _enjoy_ being touched?” She felt his voice reverberate through his chest, the words seeming to tingle down her spine.

“Yes, Young Lord,” she affirmed, her breath hitching slightly as Ling made a deliberative probe with his fingers. “By you…”

Ling made a _hmmming_ noise, which sounded like the purr of a lion or a tiger. “And what have you done to _earn_ my touch, servant?”

He never called her that, even at formal gatherings or meetings, where protocol was valued most of all. She was always _Lan Fan_ , a commoner on first-name basis with a Xingese Prince, an Emperor. Ling reserved his stilted tone for affairs of state, when he needed to cloak himself in the rank of the Emperor. When he needed to chew out a wayward prince, level threats against feuding clans.

While she loved Ling Yao just the way he was, there was something about that tone Lan Fan never failed to take note of. Something attractively… _dominant_. Commanding. A voice she’d sometimes replay in those rare, quiet mornings to herself…

“I have done nothing to deserve this, my Emperor,” Lan Fan groaned, as Ling stroked her folds at a maddeningly deliberate pace. It was a blatant lie - surely saving his life several times over had to count for something? - but one she was in the mood to tell and he _wasn’t_ in the mood to correct.

“Feel me,” the Emperor ordered, and Lan Fan obeyed. She spun slightly so that they were pressed together, costing her a few precious seconds of Ling’s touch. He kept her pressed against him as her hands found his abdominals, sliding downwards, until they felt the firmness of his erection.

“Do you feel that, Lan Fan?” Ling asked, as her hands played over the tented fabric of his pants. It was hardly the first time she’d seen his erection – she’d bodyguarded a teenage male for enough years to be familiar with its shape - but its _feel_ , no, that was new. Not an accidental brush during sparring or an awkward bump around the table, but deliberate _touch_ … “It’s very uncomfortable, you know. Disrespectful, even, to rile up an Emperor like that.”

Lan Fan knew him too well to feel any true chastisement. Instead, she felt... _exhilaration_ , verbalized confirmation of his attraction to her. Of his arousal _by_ her. _She_ , the servant, the wallflower, the amputee, the deviant. This was no idle flirting, no thoughtless tease... 

“This one begs forgiveness, Your Majesty,” she replied, rolling her head back to reveal her elongated neck, bare but for his gift to her. “If you wish it…” With great effort she separated herself from him, sinking to her knees before the Young Lord. Her fingers undid the loose knot holding up his pants, which she gingerly guided down his legs.

She felt Ling’s hand on her head, fingers combing through her hairs. For the briefest moment, she wished he didn’t. Her hair was a tangled mess, heavy with sweat, unwashed and uncombed.

And then remembered how good his hand on her head felt.

Her fingers found his penis, Lan Fan taking extra care with her automail ones, favoring her right side. For all her mastery of fighting and violence, she was still an amateur when it came to the sensual. Her knowledge was fragmentary, second-hand, overheard gossip and discarded erotica. Much of that knowledge had come during her first stay in Amestris - the west was either more open or more depraved than Xing - but it wasn’t like the Young Lord had shown much interest in bedding wayward wenches. While Lan Fan had been grateful that the Young Lord hadn’t been distracted by casual sex, his disinterest had deprived Lan Fan of at least _vicarious_ carnal knowledge.

Ling, however, didn’t seem to notice her inexperience.

“Oh, _god_ , Lan Fan…” he groaned, as pre-cum seeped across her fingers.

“Does this please you, Young Lord?” she asked, feeling her own arousal swelling alongside his.

“Lan Fan… _yes_ , Lan Fan, your hand feels…”

Lan Fan didn’t quite catch the rest of his effusive praise, because she was too focused on replacing her hand with her mouth.

Like the proper Xingese lady she really wasn’t, Lan Fan hadn’t even _known_ the concept of fellatio before they’d set out across the Eastern Desert. She’d subsequently learned that the sex lives of Xingese nobility were, by Amestrian standards, tame to the point of boring.

She saw Ling’s stance shift slightly, as if he was steadying himself on an uneven surface. Lan Fan rose up on her knees, gently bobbing along the length of his member. Ling’s left hand fell on her head, just above her ear, while his right rested beside her automail shoulder, his thumb kneading the muscle.

The act was easier than she’d feared, if Ling’s quickening heartbeat was anything to go by. The taste in her mouth was neither enticing nor intolerable; salty, but she was not one to flinch at her own discomfort. She kept him a safe distance away from the back of her throat, not wanting to chance an unpleasant reaction, while her lips and her hand worked tiny miracles along his shaft.

Lan Fan was so engrossed in the rhythm that she was genuinely startled as Ling withdrew, sensing only a slight shift in the concentrations of his _chi_. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breaking a small string of saliva.

Ling pulled her up, his hands around her wrists, the firmness of his erection still pressing against her body. The pressure between her own legs had only grown, almost calling out for contact. Ling’s grip, though gentle, kept her from rubbing anything.

“ _Lan Fan_ ,” he breathed, dropping her hands to encircle her waist, pulling her mouth to his. The kiss was greedy and artless, and Lan Fan lost herself in it. “We should… should…”

This time it was Lan Fan who was better able to keep her composure, slipping a half-step back from her Emperor. They were suddenly both very aware of the king-sized bed that was just behind them, the sheets tantalizingly unwrinkled.

Her hands found his. “This one has only one gift she can offer in return for His Majesty’s generosity,” she began, gently guiding him forward, towards the bed behind her.

For a moment, Ling looked almost hesitant, as Lan Fan’s fingers slipped from his own, the bodyguard lowering her back to the mattress. Ling’s knee sunk into its edge. “I’m yours, Young Lord,” she repeated, sliding further back on the bed. Ling crawled forward, after her. The robe had been completely discarded now, revealing broad shoulders, regal hair spilling down his back.

Ling clambered atop her, taking another kiss from Lan Fan. Her legs were loosely spread, the Emperor positioned between them. His breaths fell hot and heavy on her face.

The nails of her right hand clawed into his shoulder. “If Your Majesty would like…” she half-said, half-groaned. “There is no one I would rather do this with…”

Ling kissed her again. “Me neither,” he whispered, with a pleased, silly grin on his face.

“In that case,” Lan Fan whispered back, daring the smallest of bites to His Majesty’s lower lip.

Ling leaned back just enough for Lan Fan to scamper out from under him, darting like a fox a half-second before the trap closed. Ling actually let out a short laugh, so surprised by her, dropping his cute butt to the bed so he could take in Lan Fan’s murine scurrying.

Lan Fan was acutely aware of Ling’s following gaze as she found one of her pouches, her fingers deftly ruffling through its contents. She shot Ling a reassuring look, wordlessly promising that she wasn’t going for a grenade.

“Here, Your Majesty,” Lan Fan said, bowing low as she presented the package with both hands. She straightened up as the Emperor deftly plucked it, and watched his expression morph as he realized just what it was.

“And just what were you doing with this in your possession?” Ling growled, with just enough grumble in his throat to cause Lan Fan to startle.

“Your Majesty…” she stammered, as Ling held her shoulders and guided her firmly to the bed. “...it’s simply a continuation of my duties. Should you ever wish to, to…” Lan Fan’s throat clenched as she fell back onto the sheets, unable to name the act “...I am to ensure that Your Majesty has whatever protection he needs.”

Ling’s hands fell to her hips, lifting her up and back onto the bed, his eyes on hers. Lan Fan swallowed, her back arching as her lord’s hands clutched at her thighs.

She watched as Ling reached for the little package, seeming to ponder it. Lan Fan had actually come across it while touring a State Military base, where they were freely dispensed in the base’s recreation center. The Amestrians were apparently consigned to the reality that their soldiers would be wandering into all manner of brothels and bordellos, and decided to try to get ahead of the V.D.

Ling ripped the package open. “ _Whaaaat_ , you think I’m just going to go around sleeping with random girls?” he asked, a familiar, teasing grin returning to his face.

Lan Fan blushed scarlet. “No, Your Majesty!” she protested, a brief pang of shame spiking through her.

“You know I could have had a harem of fifty concubines,” Ling mused, as he unrolled the condom along the length of his cock. “Or warm my bed with any woman in Xing.”

Lan Fan uttered a groan as Ling shuffled forward on the bed. She lay on her back, knees spread, the one person she loved between her legs. He brushed against her, and Lan Fan wetted her lips.

“...But you’re the only woman I would ever want, Lan Fan.”

She sucked in a breath as Ling slid inside her, pushing past the last resistance. Another cry - short and senseless - escaped her as Ling began to thrust deeper, the length of his member filling her further with every push.

Lan Fan slid further back on the bed, only to be caught by Ling, his hands gripped her hips, forcing his cock inside her. She clawed blindly at the sheets, bunching them between her fingers, holding on for dear life as he pressed deep inside her.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lan Fan?” Ling asked, keeping his voice cool. One hand drifted from her hip to her breast, teasing a nipple. Lan Fan let out a shuddering moan as Ling’s gentle brushes escalated to a pinch, the sharp sting of the sensation provoking a short yelp.

“ _Please_ …” she breathed, the word coming out jaggedly as Ling maintained his rhythm. “Keep saying it.”

She did not need to clarify. With her eyes squeezed shut, Ling’s voice filled her head, his words the most harmonious melody in the heavens to her ears. “I want you, Lan Fan. _God_ , I want you every minute of every day.” His voice was husky and ragged, his heavy breaths panting out the words. “More than any woman, any harem, I’ve wanted _you_. Do you have any idea how _beautiful_ you are?”

Lan Fan shouted, as Ling pushed his length inside her. The pressure was almost overwhelming, the sensation shattering her mind. Her hands left the sheets to claw at Ling, and he leaned over her, a weight atop her, thrusting inside her.

She felt his coming climax, an accent to his _chi_ she’d never seen in the Young Lord but could not possibly mistake. Her body mirrored what it felt in Ling’s _chi_ , the burgeoning pressure, the explosion of sensation, the shuddering release-

Lan Fan cried out for a second time as she orgasmed, feeling herself tighten around Ling’s cock, the overwhelming feeling of him inside her, the release coursing along her spine, down her legs, to pointed toes. There was no control left in her motions as she clutched Ling close to her, reveling in the touch of his chest, her hands grabbing needily at him.

Her strength abandoned her, and Lan Fan collapsed to the bed, her chest rising and falling with each deep, greedy breath.

A few seconds later, Ling slid back on the bed, carefully extracting himself from her. Lan Fan shuddered a little at the sensation of his penis leaving her, a mixture of emptiness and relief. She listened, eyes still shut, as Ling gingerly rolled the condom back, the sound of stretching rubber filling the suite.

“So, Lan Fan,” Ling asked, appearing back over her. Her eyes drifted open, and she saw the silly grin of her Young Lord again. “How was that for a birthday wish?”

Despite a lifetime of training, Lan Fan wasn’t able to keep herself from smiling, as Ling brushed a wayward lock out of her eyes. “This one is glad Your Majesty enjoyed her services,” she mumbled back. It was a stupid little pretense, but Lan Fan wanted to get just a little more mileage out of it.

“ _Okay_!” Ling declared boisterously, clapping his hands together. “Massage time! Roll over!”

“Please, Your Majesty…” Lan Fan said, propping herself up on an elbow. “That isn’t necc-”

But Ling had already rolled her over, pushing her face-down into the mattress so that he had an unobstructed view of her back. “I want to give you a massage,” he declared, planting a knee on either side of her hips. He rubbed his palms together, before resting them on her shoulders. “Imperial command! Disobey and it’s treason!”

Lan Fan let out an utterly unladylike moan as Ling began digging into her muscles, knotted by tension and sore from long days of travel and training. He began making his way down, spreading release along her spine, and Lan Fan felt her whole body go utterly limp.

“If His Majesty wishes it,” she mumbled into the mattress, feeling her mind floating away.

Who was a humble bodyguard to protest?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we’ve reached the conclusion. Thank you to everyone who read/commented along the way – you’ve been a huge boost of confidence to someone writing _FMAB_ for the first time, and also an author who can almost never write a multi-chaptered work. I hope this last chapter lived up to your feedback.
> 
> So yeah, author’s rant time. I spent a lot of time thinking about how to get these two together, without slipping into [OoC](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Out_of_Character) territory. Which meant the tricky act of having Lan Fan signal that she’s ready, willing, and able, without ever _quite_ being able to ask outright. She wants/needs Ling to give her the final push, an excuse to break from the rigors of duty. Which herein Ling ultimately provides, through an order that is really a wish from Lan Fan. I hope that that worked.
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave any comments, thoughts, feedback, or headcanons in the comments. Criticism is the only way I’ll ever get better as a writer. If you’d like to know more about me/my writing, feel free to hit up my [About](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/about) page. I’m also active on both [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/overview) and [Tumblr](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/), and can be reached through any of the means on my [Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/profile) page.


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